Childhood's Country Pathway

When I was a little girl my father’s mother owned two small houses that were nestled in the “crook” of two mountains in Eastern Kentucky. To get to her place, you either had to walk the path from the main road up the mountain, following the trickling brook that was her natural drive or catch a ride and get bounced around on the hard metal bench seat of her Jeep Willy (which was the only vehicle that could safely make that treacherous run).

So we'd arrive and Dad would park the car just off the main road, then we'd embark and travel the short distance to my other grandmother’s front porch whose house was situated at the foot of the mountain. Dad could only sit for a short while before he'd start to fidget and before you knew it (barely enough time to be polite most days) he’d be asking “Who’s walking up the creek with me?”

Now, I never volunteered to walk “up the creek” with Dad. There were two reasons for this, neither of which were that I didn’t like spending time with Dad. But Dad was always in a hurry to arrive at his Mom’s and if I was going to walk that path, I needed the time for the adventure that this path lent itself. And, if I couldn’t walk it alone I’d rather wait on the Jeep Willy and take the bumpy ride up the mountain! But, if I was really lucky I got to walk it alone or with my brothers and sister who always ran off ahead of me and left me alone to my imagination.

The path was marvelously secluded and within 30 yards from Grandma’s back door it took the slightest of turns and immediately her house and yard were effectively blocked from sight and I was transported to a far off uninhabited land. This land was filled with exotic animals, cool breezes and the choices of foods that you could pluck right off trees or from vines growing along the ground.

The first opportunity for adventure was what I lovingly called the “jungle.” Strange and mysterious, the jungle was just too my right as I made it past the first incline up the mountain. In reality this was a small grove of trees, maybe 20 or 30 in all, the largest with a trunk of about 4” in diameter with heights topping out at about 10 feet. These jungle trees were speckled with small hard red berry clusters that you could not eat - so I always thought of them as Snow White’s poisonous apples. I never knew where my imagination would take me or what I might encounter if I ventured into the jungle, but I did know that if anyone was with me they’d not share the interest I had in tarrying there for a spell.

Once I had spent the necessary time to slay a few dragons, or pet the few tame lions and tigers I’d find, it was time to continue on my way. Staying on the pathway, steadily climbing higher and higher, the next area I entered was an enchanted forest. The trees were larger here with limbs so long they drooped against the ground sweeping it clean as they swayed in the breeze. A canopy so thick above you that all you could get was the “impression” of sunlight as it peeked through the shadows and murkiness created by the heavy foliage. The ground carpeted in a thick lush sweet green moss which was the perfect place to lay down and rest for awhile or to remove my shoes and allow my toes to tickle in the smoothness of its mossy goodness.


From here I’d have to make a choice, to remain on the path or to jump into the stream, whose coolness beckoned to me. If I was feeling hungry or if I thought it was the right season for it, I’d stick to the path as I knew that just over the next little rise there was a tree that loved to tempt me by holding its treasure just beyond my normal reach. I’d take a deep breath and plunge forward running as fast as I could to give myself the needed lift to jump high enough so that hopefully I could harvest a few berries from this temptress. Huge dark purple berries simply dangling there giving me the motivation to “almost” fly and what a glorious victory when I was successful in grabbing a few of these, savoring each bite as they'd burst, hot and sweet on my tongue, creating a party in my mouth that is indescribable to this very day some five decades later.

Eventually if I hadn’t already done so, I’d take whatever shoes I was wearing off and splash into the stream. Wild mint grew abundantly along the little hump of ground that rose in the middle of the stream and as I waded I’d pluck a few leaves and munch on their goodness as though it was chewing gum. Within another 30 or 40 yards the tunnel of greenery would begin to open and I could see the stream getting smaller and smaller as I looked to the right and up the mountain with a dirt road immerging and taking a sharp turn to the left. Just where this dirt road and stream met a burst of sunlight could be seen making an assault on the water, cutting diamonds of light and tossing them up into the air in what seemed every direction.

When I was younger I’d stop just inside the umbrella of the trees, looking for crawdads or witch doctors, wishing I had a jar or box with me so that I could catch a few to keep like I did lightning bugs - always planning on bringing one with me the next time I came.

As I grew older and the fascination with crawdads and witch doctors began to fade, I’d stop at this exact spot, looking ahead to the small field that ran just to the left of the dirt road before it made its last assault upward to the house. There I’d imagine my young prince, setting proud on a beautiful horse, blond, blue eyed and waiting to effortlessly reach down and toss me up just behind him.... but we never got to ride off together as by this time, every time, there would be someone calling my name waking me from my adventures and I’d run up the last little hill to grandma’s stopping only long enough to pluck up a few wild strawberries along the path, totally forgetting about crawdads, witch doctors, and handsome princes in my quest to see the folks waiting for me just around the bend.